If You Can't Catch Up, Don't Wait Up
by Of Miracles And Men
Summary: Sometimes the biggest problems aren't the villains that twirl their mustaches and threaten your loved ones. Sometimes the hardest things come from the problems of the heart. Bruce Wayne and Zatana Zatara are finding that problem rather clearly displayed in the events that occur over their past, their present, and their faraway future.
1. Superman Is A Dick

**The Present**

Zatana couldn't stop laughing. Her long, raven curls cascaded down her shoulders and swayed while her eyes shined with tears as she doubled over, shoulders shaking as she clutched at her arms and tried to contain her, at least salvage some of her composure that had long ago left, taken with her laughter.

"—and then, he comes up to me, and goes, "Wait a second, these aren't the ones that you gave me!" But I had to go along with it or else it wouldn't have been around, y'know? So anyways—" Wally gesticulated wildly, giving her a rather crude recreation of the incident he spoke of.

Bruce's eyes narrowed from where he stood at the overlook at the command, as he passed the overview of the virus they had found and the synopsis of his and Palmer's findings, the leather of his gloves turning taut as he found a grip upon the folder in his hands with more force than was necessary. It was as if he couldn't rip his gaze away from the two of them, Zatana and Wally, down by the 'porter, talking at a corridor entrance.

How long had they been talking? And why did she look like she was enjoying it so much? Were they going out? Bruce hadn't been informed of this.

"—man. _Batman."_

Bruce found his attention diverted and glanced away from them to J'onn, who had his hand on the folder and was waiting for Bruce to let go, his brow arched.

Bruce silently let go, unwilling to apologize for his err in attention and turned away.

"You should be able to find everything in there that you need. Send it down to S.T.A.R Labs and tell me when they receive it." He said, acting as if there had been no disturbance and refocusing on business, not her smile nor the proximity of their closeness, nor how Wally had extended an arm to tuck away a lock of hair that had fallen and blocked her vision, not how she had _ allowed _him to, of all things, not how she had smiled—

"Bruce." J'onn had said, the folder in his hand, at his side, and Bruce paused. J'onn never referred to him as Bruce unless he had heard something, and quickly assumed the theme of Habanera in his head, full strings and cymbals and creeping, crescendo of a symphony in his head as he turned back to his teammate, obscuring any revealing thoughts from J'onn.

"Is there something else we need to discuss?" Bruce intoned coldly, more callously than he had intended but enough that J'onn would be able to understand how the matter of his thoughts was a private, personal thing.

Of course, J'onn being J'onn…

The strings paused for a moment and then resumed, louder and louder as they grew in volume.

"Is there?" J'onn asked.

When Bruce had no response, he continued. "It is not a subtle thing, your attraction to Ms. Zatara…"

"It's also none of your concern as to whom I have any attraction to," Bruce nearly snapped at him, shoulders stiffening, but J'onn did not take any insult at this; this was Bruce on a good day, as the symphony in his head swelled and then declined in volume, plucking at strings with the utmost gentility, ready to rise once more.

"Then you should understand that neither is Wally's for her. But her emotions not easily swayed. She has chosen to remain faithful to one person."

"What are you getting at?" his voice was accusatory, irritated, ever-so-slightly desperate for an end to this conversation but eager for the information that J'onn had (not that he would admit to this).

"Just because she's decided to choose _you_ over Wally for the time being does not mean she will wait forever." He replied, and then with a nod of respect for his peer, turned away and back to the panel of buttons and levers and whirring lights, ready to send the folder down to Earth.

For a moment, Bruce paused, and then turned away to leave, digesting what J'onn had told him, as he rounded a corridor and waited in front of a lift, back stiff and arms rigid at his side, and waited.

The door slid open with a gasp of air and revealed the woman that had been on Bruce's mind that J'onn had read of in his carefully catalogued thoughts, and one of the few women that could give him pause, as she did now as she regarded him from inside the lift.

"Oh, Bruce!" Zatana grinned in pleasant surprise as she stood in the lift, "I was wondering who made the lift go up like that."

"Hi, Zee." Was all Bruce said as he got in, inexpressive as ever, and she scooted to make room for him, so close that their hands were almost touching, that, should he so desire, he just had to reach out a hand so that he could hold hers, so that he could tuck away that pesky lock of hair as Wally had, to cup her cheek and tell her as he closed the distance between the two of them, after all, J'onn had said that she was waiting, after all, wasn't she—

"Bruce? _Bruuuuce." _Zatana waved a hand, a warning signal in front of his vision as he was once more roused from his thoughts, and he turned to look down at her, at those bright eyes, those plump red lips, those bright, dusted pink cheeks, and admire her beauty.

"Yes?" he asked, and she giggled. "I _thought_ you had been daydreaming. Something on your mind?"

She crossed her arms and she arched an eyebrow, _daring_ him to disagree with her; she simply knew him too well.

"No." he lied, and she scoffed, tilting her head so that the irksome lock of hair over her eye dropped past, rescinding his opportunity to brush it away, not that he would have. He couldn't find the audacity as Wally could to put it away, and he mentally cursed himself, his mind a battleground yet his body immovable and silent as Zatana watched.

"Yes." He replied, after another moment, and Zatana smirked triumphantly.

"Well, go ahead. You can tell me." She said, and she shifted her weight to one leg, so that her hip popped out, as she placed a hand on it, her fingers brushing the fishnets on her thigh, the motion not escaping Bruce.

Oh, she knew. She did that deliberately. He fought the urge to smirk at her nerve.

"I need to tell you something." He said, and she nodded, the smile growing on her face. "I think we've established that. What is it?"

She moved closer, and the intimacy of the closeness that they assumed was natural, as she picked away a fleck of dust on his cape and flicked it away, and then looked back to him.

"Zee…" he said, using his old nickname for her, one well-practiced and well-loved by the two of them, and the distance between their faces grew closer, as he leaned down to relinquish the words that had suddenly become so close to becoming reality, the words that fought and struggled to escape yet would not, would not, for the life of him.

"That's my name, don't wear it out." She grinned, and the smallest of smiles found its way onto Bruce's face.

"It never will. Not for me." He admitted, and she chuckled, a soft, quiet laugh, just as genuine as the one she had given Wally.

"So, are we just going to stare at each other all day, or are you actually going to tell me something?" she joked, and they were just inches away from each other, he could smell the sweet fragrance of her perfume, like flowers in summer and bright as day.

"I don't see you complaining." Bruce replied.

"True." She smiled, not moving her gaze from his. They were so close, his body heat just radiated from him and Zatana could have closed the distance with a kiss, oh, she so desperately wanted to, she wanted to so bad, why couldn't Bruce know? Why couldn't he do it himself?

Men.

"I need you to know—" Bruce began, finding the willpower and the well crafted eloquence to reveal well-hidden secrets, and the distance between them nearly closed as the elevator door slid open, silently but enough to reveal an unwanted presence, if not one of the most intruding.

"Oh." Clark said, taking in the propinquity of the two of them and hesitated, taking an unconscious step back. "Am I intruding?"

"No, not at all." Bruce said with the sarcasm and blatant lie mingling with the absolute insensitive tone he replied with to Clark, as Zatana flushed and looked past him to see the number of the floor they were on.

"Oh, this is my floor." She said, her disappointment betraying her, and she turned back to Bruce, trying to keep a firm, placid expression, those plump red lips pursing.

"Sorry, Bruce. Maybe next time." She said, and Bruce couldn't help but feel the overwhelming sense of loss as she said so, as she took his hand for a moment and squeezed lovingly, and then let go, allowing it to swing to his side. She turned away, with a sway of her hips, to slide past Clark, who moved out her way as she descended down the hall, removing her top hat and letting it dangle in the grip of her right hand.

Clark sidled into the shaft next to Bruce and the door closed, cutting off his view of Zatana with a hiss of closing doors and then a minor jolt as they descended downwards.

There was an awkward, tangible moment as Clark was unsure of how to broach the subject as to just _what_ it was he intruded upon, though it seemed fairly obvious.

"So, Bruce…you and Zatana?" Clark asked, turning to look at him with that innocent naïveté that seemed so readily available to him.

"We've known each other for years." Was all Bruce said, and Clark responded with a quiet "Ah" and folded his hands in front of him, remaining silent.

_She will not wait forever._

J'onn's words seemed like a slap in the face to him at that exact moment, and he cursed Clark and his innocence and his damn interruptions to hell. At this rate, he would never be able to iterate his thoughts and she would be lost to him. He could never let that happen. Not as long as he had breath or fight in his system.

Damn.

The chorus to Habanera, within his head, struck a final chord and echoed away into nothingness.


	2. Old Friends and Magic Shows

**The Future**

The Alighieri Theatre was renowned for giving birth to and immortalizing the most famous (and infamous) talent for several generations, hosting galas, plays, speeches, and even a concert or two, over the two hundred years it had stood on Gotham Avenue, a testament to days long past and a pioneer with elegant allure into the future, an appearance of a palace gilded in gold and silver that extended, arms raised, to the sky, only able to be reached by a long set of stairs that led to doors, heralded by columns of pure marble to secrets in wait.

Terry McGinnis stared up at it for a long, awe-inspired second and let out a slow, low, whistle.

"Whoa."

He looked to Bruce, who was regarding the theater in a rather different light in his old age, baleful and resentful as he stood with the support of his cane.

"Remind me why we're here." Bruce said, ice splintering in his voice and living up to his reputation of a miserly old man.

"Because you need some time away from the cave and I hear there's a really good show on tonight." Terry cheerfully replied.

"I doubt that." Bruce replied but grudgingly ascended the stairs, subtly limping as Terry guided him as much as Bruce's pride would allow, joining the throng of people clustered in a line for admission as people fished for tickets and other necessities for inside, clamoring and talking amongst themselves.

Once inside, the two of them took in the dim lights and multitudes of tows of red velvet sears, as soft symphony music from the orchestra preparing crooned from the pit, and people filed into their seats, chattering and gossiping with a low, growing hum of babble as they filled up the seats with unprecedented rapidity, whiling away the time before the show began.

"Come on. We're sitting in the front row." Terry motioned to a few seats miles away from them, gently urging Bruce onwards with an infectious grin on his face that he resisted yet failed to conceal.

"Why in the front?" Bruce arched a suspicious eyebrow at him.

"Like I said. It's a good show." Terry replied, shrugging off the question. "Now come on."

The two of them were silent as they descended down the aisle, Terry admiring the fine architecture of the room as Bruce looked dead-set ahead, eyes only for a seat he was determined to enjoy a nap in and wait for this whole debacle to be done with.

"Am I allowed to know what this is about?" Bruce asked as he sat in his seat, well-oiled and uncreaking as Terry sat in his and sighed, adjusting the tie to his tuxedo with a smart tug.

"Nah." He smirked and Bruce once more cocked an eyebrow at his audacity.

"_Terry."_

"What, don't you like surprises?" Terry asked, teasing in his voice as he grinned at Bruce's deadpan, clearly displaying his opinion on the subject.

Before Bruce could reveal his enlightened opinion on the subject with a few choice words, the orchestra swelled with music, voluminous and rich, calling away their attention as a few late straggles scuttled to their seats, huffing and puffing for lost air. The curtains, matching the red velvet seats and lined with gold thread, opened with a rather audible flutter to reveal a stage where fog that was thick and opaque, began to collect, as a smooth voice began to announce the performer.

"_And now, the most dazzling of ladies, the most magical of all madams, we would like to present to you the one and only…"_

"You knew." Bruce said, not an accusation towards Terry but a statement, as a column of smoke began to collect and take on the form of a figure rather feminine in shape.

"I just saw the file on the computer. Can you blame me for trying?" Terry asked, unabashed.

"Zee and I haven't talked in years. I don't need to dig this up again." Bruce replied, but there was no malice, only grim acceptance as a snare drum began to tap off in rapid succession, with a beat that raced the heart and readied the mind.

"Then why do you have files on her from up to three months ago? You haven't forgotten her, Bruce, and you haven't done that with any other woman you know." Terry replied, and it was his turn to assume an accusing tone, narrowing his brow at his mentor that prompted a retort from him that would not have been printable but was thankfully cut off by a crack of thunder, imposing and rolling a gust of air that flattened out the fog and made it whisper away into thin air, ruffling people's hair and clothes and made the two of them forget their argument for an instant, to turn and see her.

She had not changed, while everyone else had. The use of her magics had protected her and preserved her without her even realizing it, save a long streak of white hair that coursed down her long, raven locks cascading down her back. Her smile was still stunning. The brightness, that teasing light in her eyes had not faded.

And Bruce still loved her.

"…_Madam Zatana Zatara!" _the announcer cried and the audience clapped appreciatively, in the know of her reputation and infamous skills.

She bowed graciously, the smile never-fading from her face as she straightened and opened her mouth to speak, those plump red lips parting.

"Thank you, thank you. But why don't we get down to the real magic?"

"Whoa." Terry said for the second time that night, eyes running over her figure and admiring the finer parts of her with unrestrained admiration, and after a long moment, turned to look at Bruce, ogling him in disbelief.

"What made you let _her_ get away?" Terry asked, as the file hadn't provided a picture and he couldn't find any pictures when he googled her. He had thought, at the very least, she would show a more definitive sign of age. But there was nothing. Nothing!

"Shut up and watch." Bruce said, almost impatiently, his gaze never moving from the lady that gesticulated wildly and produced fireworks from her hat, angry and loud and popping with red, white and blue, that she puckered her lips and blew out to the crowd, making them shriek in excitement or duck their heads as the sparks rained down upon them and melted away into bubbles, spherical and voluminous that popped as they descended down upon them.

Terry held out a hand to one that popped and made him blink in surprise, and then he looked back up to the stage.

"She's good."

Bruce didn't say anything, so Terry thought it best to zip his lips and enjoy the show, which was more than he expected but didn't find anything wrong with that. There were more fireworks, and dragons, and disappearing acts where people ended up on the chandelier that disassembled itself into perfect crystalline raindrops and then reassembled as the people floated down to earth, and there was a rabbit pulled out of a hat that turned into the person sitting next to Terry who had suddenly vanished, and there was a roof that was pulled away to reveal the smattering of stars in the sky above and clouds drifted lazily on by, and there was magic, and sorcery beyond belief, and then there was Terry, who had never been to a magic show once in his life and found himself, as the rest of the audience was, in love with Madame Zatana Zatara.

When the show ended an hour later, everyone found themselves up on their feet and applauding her talent and cheering and whooping and hollering and Terry was whistling and yelling for more, and he looked and saw to his immense surprise that Bruce was on his feet as well, clapping with unexpected vehemence on the support of his cane, and, he could have sworn, a smile on his face that was gone before he even realized it had been there.

It took five encores, several bows from Zatana, and about twenty minutes for the theater to clear out, as Terry and Bruce found themselves, due to being in the front, to leave at the very end of that time when it was practically abandoned, Terry taking care to make sure that Bruce got out safely and smiling with vindication all the way.

"Told you it was a good show."

"I haven't seen one of hers in a long time." Bruce admitted, seemingly mollified by the gesture that Terry had extended and by the show.

"No, Bruce, I can't exactly say you have." A voice familiar to Bruce for many, many years and only recently so to Terry said from behind them, and the two of them turned, quickly, to see her, smiling, a hand on her hip, as she crossed the distance to the two, hips swaying with the click of black heels.

"Zee." Bruce said.

"That's my name. Don't wear it out." Zatana grinned at him, and Terry saw, with great surprise, a smile on his aged, experienced face, one that he did not dare to conceal.

"That was unexpected." Terry commented.

"I know, right? It takes a lot to make Bruce smile, but when it comes to old friends…" Zatana trailed off, giving Bruce's protégé an appreciative smile as she extended a hand. "I'm Zatana Zatara. Are you Bruce's successor? Or his bodyguard? Not that he needs one."

Terry found himself smiling in the presence of this extremely likable (and very pretty) woman, and shook her hand with a brief, firm grip.

"Terry McGinnis. Successor. I heard about your shows and I thought I could get the old man to come and watch because he doesn't do anything but stay on the computer in the cave all day long."

Zatana laughed. "Nothing's changed. Right, Bruce?" she looked to him; and the two of them shared a long glance with great undertone to it that made Terry feel as if he was intruded on something.

"Not at all." He replied, and her smile grew. "I didn't think so. Would you like to talk somewhere else?"

"Alone?" Bruce asked, not at all subtle. Terry fought the irresistible urge to roll his eyes and cleared his throat.

"Excuse me," he said and turned to leave, exiting down the long aisle and out the exit, stuffing his hands in his pockets and not bothering to hide the smile that grew on his face, and the two of them watched him go.

As soon as he had left, Zatana turned to Bruce and motioned for him to follow, the two of them thoughtful and musing, her steps short and easy and his long and sloping with the interruption of his cane as her smile softened and become more subtle, serious, as Bruce's left his face entirely.

"I suppose I should be thankful to him for bringing you out. I haven't seen you in ages." Zatana said.

"I didn't think you wanted to see me." Bruce admitted. Zatana scoffed, unbelieving.

"And why wouldn't I want to see you? Did you think that we left it off so badly that I wouldn't miss you?" Zatana demanded, old anger resurfacing.

"You married. I didn't want to intrude." Bruce said, and at that his gaze wandered down to the simple yet beautiful diamond ring on her ring finger and then back up to those flawless eyes that stared at him, insulted.

"You mean, _was_ married. Marrying heroes is such a costly thing. You think they'll be around forever, and then they just—" Zatana splayed out her fingers, making an exploding noise. "They're gone before you even realize it."

They were silent for a moment in honor of memory of those long gone as they continued down the hallway.

"And besides, he couldn't ever take what you had away from me, there was never any way. I loved you. I _still _love you." Zatana said, and her hand brushed his, teasingly, yet brushed away as she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.

"You deserved someone better than me. I couldn't have asked that of you."

"You know that's a lie. You would have asked anyways. I could have taken care of myself. Besides, you've been around for this long, haven't you?" she teased as Bruce glared at her.

"Sorry. It's been a long night. I know you need to get going." Zatana relented, averting her gaze to the floor. "You have better things to do that visit old friends."

"You're more than an old friend." Bruce admitted, and she looked away from the floor, up to those eyes and saw the same man she had known ages ago.

She sighed, smiling, and then leaned in to kiss his cheek for a long, quiet moment, and then pulled away, to walk into the hall leading to her dressing room with the smart click of heels.

"If that were true, Bruce," she said, giving him a last, longing glance before she rounded the corner, "you would have come to see one of my shows before."

Bruce watched her go, emotions he thought long dead or dying rekindling the mere sight of her and then slowly, surely, with the true gait of an old man, turned to rejoin Terry in the foyer.

* * *

**Don't worry, don't worry, all your question will soon be answered!**

**But certainly not in this chapter...**


	3. Birthday Wishes

**The Faraway Past**

It was about eleven o' four on a Thursday night, and the skies, a deep, tender blue drizzled with lazy, drifting luminescent clouds that seared the skies with a virtuous white and smattered with twinkling, bright stars that glimmered brightly but paled in comparison to the swell of the bright, creamy full moon that hung in her rightful place in the sky, completing the flawless masterpiece known as the night sky, an elegant horizon to decorate the rooftops of Gotham, where below, it was a different story.

Bruce cracked the thug's skull on the light post and heard a satisfying crunch as he relinquished his hold on the base of his scalp and allowed him to drop to the ground. Framed in the streetlight that encased the entirety of the fiasco. Behind Bruce, back-against-back, Zatana raised her hands to the men that descended upon her, and spoke with urgency tempered by well-learned serenity.

"_Eezerf won." _She commanded, and as if they were figures on a television, they froze so, pausing in mid-air, knives aimed at her and legs too far, too low, or too high so that had they not been suspended by the help of her magics their centers of balances and gravity would have deemed that they fall.

With a following command of _"Peels,"_ they dropped to the ground like the dead weight they were and became lost to the realm of Dreams and their lord Morpheus.

Satisfied with her handiwork, Zatana dared to look back at Bruce as he lifted a man off his feet with the force of his fist, and watched as the poor bastard made that brutally quick descent to ground and unconsciousness and made the wise decision of turning back to her troubles, resorting to a quick right hook that allowed her opponent to be distracted enough to be ensnared by Dreaming as well.

"Holding up all right?" Zatana grinned, not allowing herself to look at Bruce as they rotated as if one a dime, maintaining their back-to-back position.

"Perfect. Don't let your guard down." Bruce responded back curtly before she heard a grunt and there was a loud thud as something dropped to the ground.

"Don't let yours." She teased and kicked up to knock a man silly and then jabbed his eye before murmuring, _"T'nod evom"_ and then asked as she battled another, "Do you want to go somewhere after this?"

"Why do you ask?" He retorted and there was a punctual crack as they danced in the streetlight, coattails and cap fluttering and casting long, menacing shadows.

"Oh, I don't know, maybe because tomorrow's my twenty-first and I wouldn't mind having a friend tagging along." She not-so-subtly implied as she briefly engaged in fisticuffs and returned victorious.

After the longest of seconds passed as the large group surrounding them eventually became whittled down to two, she heard Bruce reply, "Maybe."

She fought a grin threatening to split her face in two as she commanded a man to fall to the ground and become unable to do anymore.

"Aww. You _do_ care." She said as she turned to him and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.

"Only if you're lucky, though." Bruce said, and she swore she could hear that _oh_-so-rare sarcasm he used that hinted in his voice.

"What makes you say that?" she asked as confusion dashed across her face, but before she could even think of finishing her sentence, with the most impeccable timing, an alarm moaned through the night, impending and whining, and before she could even react, Bruce had turned to extend a hand, and with a snap of his grappling hook, left the spotlight of the streetlight and returned to the darkness with the silent implication and expectance that she would follow.

"Ah." Zatana said, nodding to herself, and with the quick incantation, _"Wollof mih"_ she retreated into it as well.

* * *

It was dark in the cave, where the shadows consumed the world all around them and feet skittered on the stalactites above, while water made a slow, steady descent into the darkness of the recesses below while the steady hum of machinery, displaying how even man could invade upon the sanctity of the world below, the world hidden from them, and the light from said machinery made Zatana appear blue and yellow from it on the cot as Bruce knelt over her ankle and set a bandage on it.

"Honestly, it's fine. I could have used my magic to take care of it." She smiled, embarrassed at the attention that had been called upon her, looking to Alfred for relief as he strode in, formal as ever, and set down a tray of tea on the table besides them.

"It's only because he cares for you, Miss Zatana. He would not do this for anyone, especially when I could do it for him." Alfred replied primly as Bruce continued to wrap the gauze about her ankle, slowly, surely.

"I don't trust magic," Bruce added, brow furrowing as he spoke, and Zatana arched an eyebrow at his comment.

"So you don't trust me." She said, her mouth twisting up as if she had tasted something sour.

"I didn't say that." He replied, in the right interval of time so that it was not said too quickly nor too late.

"And had he said so, he would have had more than just you to answer to, Miss Zatana." Alfred said to him with a frown, an interruption to the usual placid expression he so often assumed and nodded to her as he retreated out of the room.

"Thank you, Alfred." She grinned but found it quickly replaced by pain as Bruce tightened the bandage just the slightest bit too tight.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked, looking up to her with apprehension, and she looked down at the face behind the cowl, concerned yet refusing to reveal that he felt so.

She felt suddenly warm, realizing that he had not abandoned his hold on her ankle.

"Just—just fine." She smiled at him, hoping the darkness of the cave would conceal her blush, and she straightened out her legs with a creak of bones as Bruce allowed her ankle to become hers once more and sat up straight, allowing her legs to dangle over the side, swaying with the slightest motion.

"That should take care of it for now. You'll just need to rest easy on it." He said as he walked to the computer and she murmured a quick invocation to heal her leg as he walked away and out of hearing range (or so she thought).

"Sure thing." She said, and stepped daintily onto the hard stone below with a click of heels and then followed after Bruce as he sat at his chair, staring up at the great computer before him with files and files of information, to reveal new cases to solve, new crimes to stop, and people to save.

Zatana wondered if he had a file of her on that computer, as she stood at his side and watched the descent of files, and looked down to him.

"So. Thinking about that date?" she grinned shamelessly at him as his gaze did not wander away from the screen, failing to capture his attention even for the slightest.

She received a 'hmmm' in response and knew when it was time to quit, choosing to roll up her sleeve and admire the small wrist-watch her father had given her ages ago, listening to the relentless, steady ticking of the hands below ever-so-slightly scratched glass.

"Hey. What d'you know, I'm twenty-one." She tsked to herself, and then groaned, raising her arms to the ceiling and turned to go with a click and a clack of heels.

"Look, Bruce, I better get going. Birthday plans and everything, you know how busy they can get and all…" she trailed off, eyes only on the door, not bothering to mention how she would be the only one celebrating it for the third time in a row nor how she had really, really hoped, even if she was going out on a limb, how she wanted him to come with, at the very least.

"Wait."

With an eyebrow arched, she turned away, from the gaze that had been so solidly locked onto the door, and turned to find herself looking up at Bruce, who no longer was in his chair but standing right before her, practically over her, closer than they had been in that streetlight and so much more intimately, oh geez…

He leaned down, silently, and kissed her as he gently pulled her to him, holding her as if she was the only thing that mattered, holding her like she was important to him, and it was soft and sweet and simply put, the best birthday present she had ever received in all of her now twenty-one years of existence.

After a moment that seemed, simply put, too short, he pulled away and whispered, "Happy Birthday, Zee."

"You buy the best things." She said, and he was so close that her very words tickled his lips, but they did not let go of each other nor did the thought cross their minds as they pondered upon this birthday present, until the door leading to the cave slid open to reveal Alfred standing prim and proper as usual, holding a not quite large but not quite small slice of cake with pastel blue frosting and a sparkling white candle that glimmered like the stars in the sky.

"Forgive me, Miss Zatana, but I did not think it right to let you leave without a birthday—oh. Am I intruding upon something?" Alfred would have blushed the color of a tomato had he been lacking in self-restraint.

Zatana looked to Bruce, as he looked to her, and then they relinquished their embrace to stand up straight, clearing their throats and shifting their collars.

"No, not at all, Alfred." Zatana smiled, and Alfred nodded, satisfied with the answer, if but for the moment.

"Of course. Now, if you would like to blow out your birthday candle?"

"Of course," Zatana replied with a nod, giving Bruce a last glance as he watched her go to receive the incredibly sweet gesture from Alfred, and wondered if maybe the rest of her birthday would be just as great as it was turning out to be.

* * *

**You know, because we could all do with a happy ending to a chapter every now and then, right? **


	4. Rooftop Chats (AKA Robin Is Dead To Me)

**The Present**

There was a light, gentle breeze that cut through the serenity, unexpected as it was, in the night of the city that was mad in its beautiful, abhorrent glory, as Bruce and Dick looked down on the edge of the ledge on Gotham Tower, and stared down, down below to the people that had become dots, walking, talking, laughing, chattering gossiping, stumbling home or someplace warm to stay for the night.

Dick watched with fading interest, reassured that there would be nothing to fear, nothing to fight for the night and tilted his head from one side to another, relieving the tension in his neck. With an impatient breath passing through his lips, he looked to Bruce, who had still continued to stare down, down below, as if he was entranced by the everyday routines of the little people that walked below.

"Do you want to call it a night?" he asked, and the brushed off the dust that he thought was practically collecting in droves off of the bright blue logo on his chest, and then up to Bruce again, who had not uttered a word on response.

"Bruce?" Dick repeated, and arched an eyebrow at him, one that still went unnoticed.

He still did not respond, his mind was more concerned with other problems, other problems concerned with other people, other problems more specifically engaged with one specific person in general.

Dick sighed, a shade too dramatic but necessary as another breeze swooned by, disrupting his hair, and reclined back from where he sat, leaning on the point of his elbows and stared up at the murky, dark sky.

"How's Zatana?"

At her name, Bruce ever-so-subtly twitched, a movement that would have gone unnoticed had one not been fighting at his side for most of one's life, and a smirk crossed Dick's face as he continued to gaze up at the sky, inky-black and imposing.

"She's fine." Bruce replied stiffly, and shifted in his posture, his shoulders tensing, as he looked down below, his gaze becoming steely.

"'Just fine'? That's not what I heard happened on the Tower." Dick grinned, and looked over at him as he said it.

"What happened, or what you heard happen, is irrelevant." Bruce replied, allowing the slightest hint of defensiveness to creep into his tone.

"That's not what Kara told me," Dick replied, and Bruce's brow twitched.

"You didn't tell me that you were friends with her."

Dick allowed him to change the subject for the moment. "We have been ever since Babs and I went to Metropolis over the summer."

There was a pause.

"But you're still not answering my question."

"I wasn't aware that I had to."

"Come on, Bruce. This is Zatana. The lady that's been a friend of the little makeshift 'family' you've made for all of us for _years_. Don't we get to know if our daddy gets a potential 'mommy'?" Dick did not bother to hide his shameless grin at Bruce, who looked away for a brief instant to his ex-ward, and set a glare on him that made him recoil ever-so-slightly.

"Okay, okay. Lord knows what she sees in you." Dick muttered, crossing his arms.

"Maybe it's my amazing ability to know how to shut up." Bruce said, not lacking in sarcasm, even for once.

"I don't know. I'm thinking that you pay her money or something. Or maybe she's just really into the dark, brooding type."

"Certainly not the annoying, immature type. _Robin."_

"Hey, that's _Nightwing _to you, unless you'd like me to go into the whole _'Holy Flashback Fridays, Batman!_' bit again, Bruce." He threatened, replacing his grin with a good-natured glare.

Bruce was silent again, and Dick resorted to muttering choice expletives in his head towards his mentor, trying to reroute the conversation back towards the original topic again, but couldn't find a way to do it save the bluntest way possible.

"Is it true that Superman walked in on you guys?"

"Is it true how easy one can irrevocably damage a solar plexus? Yes." Bruce replied, and he crossed his arms once more as he stared down, hushing the conversation on Dick's end.

"You know, I'm thinking I should just go ask her myself. It's not like she has anything better to do but hang around with sullen rich boys that hang out in their caves all the time." Dick muttered to himself, although it did not go unnoticed by his rooftop companion.

"Maybe I'll ask her on a date. It's not like you're going to ask her anytime soon. She might even say yes, if I'm lucky." Dick groaned as he leaned back into the crook of his arms, staring up at the sky that glimmered with unexpected stars, twinkling brightly as he reminisced on old childhood crushes on Bruce's practically-not-quite girlfriend.

* * *

**The Past**

It had been a cold night; then again, in winter, and _especially_ in Gotham, it always was, if it wasn't, then you weren't in Gotham. Dick remembered that when he had first arrived with Haley's Circus, it had been the summer, humid and hot and horrible, and he had hoped, that if they were going to come back another year, then it would be in the winter, or the crisp, cool, fall.

It was times like those he wondered if he had really put his foot in his mouth by doing so, on this thought he paused as he had had looked away from the ledge of the roof, this time it was the GothCorp building that they stood from, twelve stories up as they admired the darkness and the streetlight, tiny little stars far below and the people even tinier little dots, moving about like ants on a hill.

He looked up, for a moment, allowing the breeze, biting and cold, to dance past him (and, it felt like right through him), to the two other people that were on the roof with him, one watching and the other trying to cope with the cold as she exhaled a cool, gray wisp of smoke from her lips.

"Cold?" he asked sympathetically as Zatana turned to him, teeth clicking once or twice from chattering before she managed out an answer, tucking away the lock of hair that threatened her vision.

"Just a lot. It'd be a lot easier if we were on a stage, you know?" she asked, cheerfully, and managed a brief smile before the wind took it away as it howled by.

"I'd give you my cape," Dick offered, holding up a corner of said cape with a small smirk, "but we'd have to share it."

He did not hide his shameless grin as she gave him a dubious look.

"Nice try, Dick." She grinned, crossing her arms and denying him a view to one a man's simple pleasures in life (although that didn't mean that her legs were bad-looking, oh no, it most certainly did not mean that).

"Hey, you can't blame a guy for trying." He replied, and she rolled her eyes charitably before she turned to go converse with the other companion on the roof, who perched and stood in a most menacing fashion, although his stiff posture and his unswerving, resolute gaze relaxed as she approached.

_Or for being able to see and want what Bruce's blind to. _He added, but only mentally as he turned away from her and then looked down to the street, pulling his cape around his shoulders as his lips exuded a thin plume of frost.

* * *

Ah, yes, the good old days of teenage skull-busting hormones (not like they had ever died out, mind you).

"I wouldn't hold my breath." Bruce snarked back; and Dick sat up with a grunt, a noise mingling with irritation and insult as he glared up at him.

"Tell me, Bruce, which one of us is more immature again?" Dick cocked up an eyebrow.

"You'll have to ask Zatana." Bruce said, and Dick could have sworn he could have a smile cross his face, but it was gone before the first Boy Wonder could even comprehend that there had been one in the first place before Bruce extended an arm and grappled away to another rooftop.

"Yeah, yeah, maybe I will." Dick muttered to himself as he too, extended an arm and swung after him, "Sooner than you think."


	5. Apologies Along The Wire

**The Future**

The shadows crept from the gilded window in the mansion, stretching and deforming the shadows within the foyer beyond recognition, forming abstract, puzzling shapes darker than the bright afternoon light streaming through, warming the figure that reclined in an armchair, staring out of the window and musing upon the cold, hard facts of life as he counted the minutes, ticking, ticking by quietly on the grandfather clock that was not a few paces away from him, ticking, ticking to night, until Terry arrived and they could go to work.

Bruce was impatient, and ever-so-slightly skittish, for reasons that he could most certainly surmise, as he waited for the kid to drive up the dirt road in his appallingly loud motorcycle—nothing like the one he had driven years ago, all garish, stark motors and paints over any quality, kids had no class these days—but unfortunately, and surprisingly, he found his mind drifting away from work, drifting away from the fundamental problems of man, the insanity that lurked in other's minds, but no, he could find no stable thought with it.

Instead, he found himself drifting to the Alighieri Theatre, sitting in the front row, watching as the smoke drifted out in an opaque, permeable fog, watching those red, velvet curtains fold back, looking at that radiant, dazzling, smile, a smile that he had not forgotten in thirty years, but had, at the very least, thought he would not see again.

He was thinking of her again. It was unhealthy, it was disgusting, and it was infectious. He missed her and she was not there, and it had only been a week. He truly was a weak old man.

Bruce shifted in his seat, and Ace, who was dozing, growled under his breath and an ear twitched in the ear, surreptitiously and subtle, the shadows of the chair blanketing him as he slept.

After a moment of staring to the window, Bruce's gaze shifted as well, moving to the telephone that was laced with a thin layer of dust on the bedside table, and his mind, continuously thinking, thought of tempting, curious thoughts, and before he could fully register it, he found himself standing, with a creak of old bones and a groan from his chair. Ace twitched and perked his head up, towards his master, who paid him no mind as he walked to the unused telephone, staring down at it, regarding it, analyzing it, considering his options.

It was just one phone call, with a number memorized by heart. There was no shame in that. There was no shame in being the first to break, the first to concede, was there? Was there?

He found his hand, lifted, slowly, slowly, and placed it on the full of the receiver, the cold hard plastic conforming to his palm, as he continued to stare down at it, unblinking, and then raised it to his ear, the other hand wandering to the keypad, with bright neon blue buttons.

It was just one call.

Before he could punch in the number, the phone beeped, shrill, poignant, and he startled in surprise and glanced to the caller ID, in luminescent blue digits above the keypad, and with hands that fought the urge to tremble, pressed the "RECEIVE CALL" button and said, "Hello?"

A warm, familiar voice spoke into it, unaware and nervous. "Hello? Is Bruce Wayne home? It's Zatana Zatara, and I wanted to know if—"

"Zee." Bruce said, gentle as he interrupted her, and there was an audible silence on the other end before she spoke again.

"Bruce? Oh, God, is that you? I must have sounded so stupid on the line, I'm sorry…" she went off, trailing off as he smiled for the old habits of old friends.

"It's fine. Why did you call?" he asked, waiting for her answer.

"I didn't see why not. It's not like you have anything better to do." There was that familiar teasing again.

"I have work later tonight," he rebutted but there was no weight, no volume to the statement.

"With your protégé, right? He looked like a good kid."

"He is."

"Not that you'd admit it to him. Cold-hearted brute."

"I can hang up right now." He threatened.

"You wouldn't dare." She laughed, and he listened to the long-missed laugh, and then there was a pause as she regained her breath.

"Are you going to come see any more of my shows?" she asked, and the call began to adjust to an air of friendship but solemnity.

"I don't know." He admitted, and there was a scoff of disbelief.

"What, do you not have the money? Or is it past your bedtime?" she retorted, and he could picture her exactly as she would be at the moment; hand on her hip, brow arched, and that accusing look in her eyes.

He almost smiled.

"Who sleeps anymore?" he asked, prompting her laugh once more. "Ain't that the truth?"

There was another pause, and then she spoke again. "Look, Bruce, before I keep talking, I want to apologize."

"What for?" he asked, becoming somber.

"You know exactly what I'm apologizing for. I'm apologizing for thirty years of silence, thirty years of not talking to each other, putting a pin on a relationship—a _friendship_ we've had since we were_ kids_, and…for being too scared to call."

He found another silence suitable.

"You don't seem scared now." Bruce replied.

"Yeah, well, you can thank your kid for that." She replied, and he could hear the faint smile in her voice.

"I know." He said, and before they both could find nothing to say, he asked, "How's yours?"

"Mine? You mean Zippora? She's great; she's performing over in Paris with her cousin Zachary, and she just might be coming back in a month to perform with me, hint, _hint."_ She replied, and Bruce cocked an eyebrow at her subtlety, but replied, "I'll see if I can make it."

"It'll be on the twenty-fourth. I think you'll like her; she's got her father's personality."

Bruce was consumed by silence for the briefest of pauses, and then replied, softly, "I wouldn't doubt it."

* * *

Terry strode into the mansion a few hours later, around seven that night, whistling rather obnoxiously cheerfully as he texted Dana, the bright artificial light reflecting onto his face, and then pocketed his phone with a satisfactory sigh, as the foyer had turned a dark blue and deep purple from the moonlight, while the shadows lurked an crept to the corners of the room.

He paused as he closed the door behind him and turned in his wrist to lock the door, and then turned back to see, with immense surprise, the muted dregs of conversation from the far side of the room, as Bruce conversed on the telephone he had long thought was merely for decoration.

Warily yet propelled by curiosity, he continued forward to catch a snippet of the conversation.

"—I can come to the one this Friday. All right."

There was a goodbye exchanged and the n Bruce hung up with a click as the receiver settled into the cradle, and he did not say anything for a long time, while Terry paused, unsure of he should test his luck by speaking up.

"You should be suited up by now." Bruce reprimanded him as he turned away from the phone and walked past him, to the ticking, ticking grandfather clock.

"Hello to you too. Who was that on the phone?" he asked as he followed after Bruce while the clock slid past and receded into the wall, revealing the long, winding staircase to below.

"Zatana." Bruce said, his voice echoing, dissonant, as he descended down the stairs, and light flooded through the initial darkness of the stairwell.

Terry's eyes widened in surprise but returned back to their original surprise as he followed.

"Is that good?" he asked, allowing a small smile to appear on his countenance.

"It means we're going back to the Alighieri Theatre on Friday." Bruce responded as he restarted the computer with a click and whir of circuitry. It was obvious by his tone that there would be negotiations, not that Terry minded.

"Sounds good to me." He grinned.

* * *

**So, until next time, I'll leave you with a question or two that will be answered in future chapters. Adieu! **


	6. Prices To Pay

**Recently, a guest sent me a review that said "You are all over the place." **

**Wait 'till I get started.**

* * *

**The Past**

Yes, okay, she admitted it, it was her fault. But she couldn't help but blame it on the curiosity, that burning, twisting curiosity that murmured from the back of her head, _But isn't it tempting? But don't you wish to know? Just one little taste, just one little peek won't hurt..._

It was like Pandora fighting the proverbial box, the box that promised to be full of sweets and toys and goodies, but instead held vice and lies and deceit, and so Zatana found herself approaching such an event the way a woman ages before her had done so, hand on the clasp of that box of sin and evil, eager and excited and unaware.

Her curiosity told her it would be fine, it would be all fun and games. But her conscience told her it was walking into a trap, a trap laden and laced with honey and the promise that everything would be okay when it really wasn't.

_But it's only four little words, isn't it? _her mind argued against her, divided and tumultuous, falling upon and against each other, clashing heatedly and violently. _Just four little words. That's all it'd be. _

It was with that idea and that foreboding, odd, squeamish, not-quite-sure, not-quite-ready sensation in her stomach, almost like someone who is about to go over the dive of a roller coaster that drops, drops, drops down, down below, that she walked to her room, shut the door, lit a candle that smelled of lilac, and held her hands out, to the air, eyes closing.

Those lips, plump and red, parted, as she thought of Bruce, crossed her fingers for the best, and spoke.

_"Wohs em eht erutuf."_

* * *

**The Future**

It was, of course, an unfamiliar place, hauntingly so, and yet, some part called out to her, of that instant liking about it with that faint Vaudeville and Broadway, with those thick, red velvet curtains, and those seats in matching red, plush and comfortable, lined row upon row, ready to be filled up with audiences prepared with thunderous applause.

It was vacant, most certainly due to the lack of performers and the thin layer of dust she noticed as she walked down its numerous aisles; probably closed over the summer for refurbishing, to give the place a good scrub-down and then reopen when the clamoring throngs crowded about its doors, waiting to get in. It was definitely a nice theater, and Zatana knew she liked it.

But was that all her magic would show her? Just an empty theater, closed for renovations, and then she would be taken back? That was totally bogus and not to mention unfair.

That was, as coincidence would have it, the exact moment upon which the doors to one of the numerous exits, glistening and looking as if they were gilded in gold, opened and Zatana flinched in surprise and dove into the nearest shadow she could find; after, she had been watching Bruce, so she must have been able to pick up something in the time being.

She found her salvation in the shadow of the stage, large enough to hide her and several other magicians fleeing from the watchful eye of those from the future, and it was with a hushed, held breath as she watched two figures, far away enough that their faces were indistinct yet audible enough to be heard. She craned her neck forward, brow furrowing, as she struggled to comprehend the conversation.

"—Can you believe it? Just two more weeks, and then my name's going to be on the front of that place in bright lights. _This_ place, _this _theatre!"

Her eyes widened yet slanted to a quint as she tried to look, to see more of that pretty, elegant woman that was descending down the aisle (God, how could she _walk_ in those heels, much less run? They had to be at least four inches!), untouched and unmarred by the years, her eyes were hungry to take in more, as she walked past her companion, down the aisle, to take in her surroundings just as she, who had just arrived, had a few scant seconds ago. The diamond ring on her left hand, fourth finger, did not escape Zatana's scrutinizing eyes either.

_This is so surreal._ Zatana thought as she regarded herself in maybe a few months, a few years, or few decades from her time, watched as she turned around, hair that extended down to the small of her back instead of her shoulders, as they did for her now (or was it then? She couldn't wrap her mind around time travel, maybe she would ask that guy named Buster Guild or whatever his name was when she got the chance), and watched herself as she paused, sighed a contented sigh, and then looked back to that man that was following her with a smile that she could make out on his face, but from the distance, just barely.

He was familiar, the calm, reassured way he walked, the timbre in his voice, and so was that smile. He was watching her (Well, the 'her' standing before the stage with her hands on her hips, that still counted as her, right? Or since it wasn't the 'her' that she knew yet, maybe it was just an entirely different Zatana to be reckoned with?) with such a comfortable, easygoing air, as if they were just close, close friends, with that general, loving affection that close friends care to bestow each other with.

"Who knows? Maybe you'll actually get one of your tricks right this time around." he teased, and she strained to hear, to discern that voice from the many ones that she had knew; it was vaguely and yet not vaguely familiar, as if she heard it constantly.

"Ha ha," the Future Zatana replied, crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes at him.

When he removed his hands from where he had stuffed them in his pockets, she couldn't help but catch her eye on that brand-new gold band on his ring finger of his left hand, polished to a fault. Her heart began thumping unsteadily, nervously, as if she was a child who had stolen from her room in the dead of night to sneak to the top of the stairs, to catch a glimpse of the movie that her parents had said was for 'Grownups Only', a mixture of excitement and unease clashing unevenly in the pit of her stomach.

_You can go now,_ her mind reminded her, _You've seen what you wanted to see. You're successful, beautiful, talented in the future. You can leave, and just wait the time out until you come to this point. You don't need to know.  
_

But her curiosity rooted her to the ground, wordless and motionless, daring her to watch, and so she did, trying to see him, trying to figure out who the man was that wore the ring, the ring, her mind tried to reason with her, might not be that which matched up with the one the Future Zatana wore on her hand.

Probably not. Hopefully not. After all, as much as her mind and her common sense told her, she had hoped, very much so, that it would not be anyone wearing such a ring except for, well, _Bruce._

Funny how the future had a way of dashing one's hopes.

But that still did not solve the confusing conundrum of the unknown, albeit handsome as he was, man that was at her side, accompanying her to a theatre that was very much like the ones that she had dreamed of performing in, the ones that she had watched her father perform in since before memory in those too-quickly-gone childhood days, and she began to assume, as he approached her Future self, that he was only a companion, to help her through her adjust in the move to the place, big and enigmatic as it was, just a fellow married buddy.

The way that he walked to her with that smile on his face, cocky and self-assured, and then the way that he pulled her to him and drew her into a kiss, quickly dispelled that idea.

Zatana swallowed thickly. There was that idea flying out the window, and she took a step forward, nearing the edge of the shadow so that she would not be noticed if one looked but just enough that she could get a better view of just _what_ was going on.

When they pulled away after a long moment she managed to get a good, long look at him and fought the urge to let her jaw drop, where it most certainly would have hit the floor.

Whoa.

Wordlessly, she took a step back, into the shadows from whence she had come, as she watched them (she could now only refer to those two as 'them' now, for she found it hard to imagine herself in that woman's place) intertwine fingers and then set off to explore the rest of the not-yet refurbished theatre.

As the door clicked behind them as they went to go explore backstage (and other things that she was most certain she did _not_ want to know about) she whispered, frantically with a hint of desperation, _"Ekat em kcab ot eht tsap" _and found herself returned, back to her apartment, to her now lilac-scented apartment, where the candle, long since fizzed out, issued a long, thin strand of smoke that curled through the darkness of apartment, the shadows blanketing her and comforting her as she returned to the past and her present.

* * *

Zatana wasn't sure if she wanted to keep it all. She sat out on the balcony of her bedroom as a warm summer wind danced by, and looked out to the twinkling sky that glimmered and glistened, faraway and untouchable. She cupped her cheek in her hand and sighed, listless yet anxious on the inside, pondering and pondering upon future decisions; and finally, finally understanding how much fun time travel _wasn't. _

Was it her place to know such things, what she had had seen? How would it impact her decisions as of now? Had it been her right to allow herself to catch a glimpse, a brief taste forward in time?

But most of all, Why? How had she made such decisions? What had happened between the then and the now?

What choices had she—and Bruce—made?

Her gaze averted, from the sky, down to the streets, the quiet night life consuming the avenue as she stared, and sighed once more, like a wistful schoolgirl, and quietly made her decision.

Closing her eyes once more, she put her hands together, almost as if in prayer, and then crossed her fingers and hoped for the best, thinking once more of Bruce and hoped, hoped that maybe doing this would change something.

Her lips parted once more as she spoke the word.

_"Tegrof." _


	7. Needle-Point Confessions

**Whew! I feel like I haven't been on this website in forever! To anyone who's been waiting for an update (all two of you) I'm sorry that I've been gone so long, but my school work has been catching up to me-high school just can't give me a break, sheesh, so I haven't been able to return. But here I am, ready to write stories for you once more, and I hope you're ready to read some more! **

**So now, without further ado, onwards! **

* * *

**The Present**

Alfred was all too used to hearing the familiar rumble of his Master Bruce's car returning to the manor, the way it screeched through the silence of the cave and then came to a perfect, practiced halt not just inches away from where he would usually wait with a well-practiced barb and a steaming cup of tea for him and whoever else was accompanying.

But tonight, as it tore down the drive and screeched into place much more fast than was expected, as Alfred approached the car, having been caught off-guard by the groan of the gates allowing the car to enter opening before he had expected them to, he found himself at an entire loss as to what was going on, as he waited by anxiously and watched as the car came to an abrupt jolt of a halt.

The tinted darkness of the windows could reveal nothing to him, and the fact that he could see nothing behind the windows that hid frightened him, although he could not permit himself to show it, all the more.

The top of the car hissed as it opened, to reveal the all-too-familiar scent of iron and blood and a sight that Alfred had seen too many times to wish to remember.

**The Past**

Contrary to popular belief, Bruce Wayne was actually an extremely punctual man. He made it to all of the parties that he hosted on time, he made sure that every charity he attended that he was present, and that every other single function he attended would at least have him staying for the time he could, having small talk with the moguls and chit-chats with the social climbers.

Unfortunately, it was neither expecting Bruce Wayne to stay around after he had made it on time, for he would never be a moment before nor a moment after.

But this one time, as Alfred waited by patiently with a tray of tea, sugars, and creams that he knew Miss Zatanna liked, and the cream that he knew Master Bruce so greatly disliked, he watched as the car screeched in with an urgency he had not heard before and hoped he had never heard again; as if the devil itself was on the car's heels.

Dick, still in the flushes of younger teenage adolescence, had been toying around with a handheld video game with flashing lights and tinny music Alfred could most certainly say he was not at all privy to, sat up with what had been wary hesitancy and now his expression mirrored Alfred's, as the two of them started towards the car, tray and game left in their spots to wait for their return.

The car stopped with a screech and the gates behind them closed, sealing up the entrance to the cave with a creak of stone and dust, and then for a moment it was as silent as death, and then the door hissed open and Bruce stepped out with Zatanna in his arms, the knuckles of his gloves run taut as if he were holding on to her for dear life.

Zatanna was limp, eyes closed and arm dangling at her side, but she was pale, unnaturally so, and she had a light sheen of sweat. Deep marks gouged her cheeks, stopping just short of underneath her eyes and then continuing their descent down to her chin, but continuing no more, while her arms dangled limp by her side. Alfred noticed with horror that her fingernails were tinged with the faintest red.

"Good Lord, Master Bruce," Alfred said, "What happened?"

"Get out a cot and the serums." He intoned flatly, his voice commanding and brittle as he stepped carefully out of the car, in order not to jostle her. Alfred felt as if he were rooted to the spot.

"But Miss Zatanna, what—" he found himself at a loss, but flinched in surprise as Bruce snapped at him.

"_Now!" _

Dick had already gone in retreat to get the cot, which he was now wheeling out, and Bruce continued on past Alfred to go lay her down, and the butler found his sense and composure returning to him once more.

"Of course, Master Bruce," he said, and then walked as quickly and properly as he could to go retrieve the box of serums that lay where it always lay, open with use far more than he would have cared or liked. When he returned, he found Bruce bent over Zatanna, checking the pulse in her wrist as Dick returned, wheeling over an IV just for safety measures.

"What happened, Bruce?" Dick asked breathlessly as he regarded Zatanna, watching her chest rise and fall with the faintest breath and looking pale underneath the light they had set up, glaring and artificial.

"Scarecrow," was all Bruce replied with, and the word sent an instinctual shiver down both Dick and Alfred's spine as Bruce noticed his butler from out of the corner of his eye and then paced down the distance to him, a syringe in his hand as he extended his hand out to the case that Alfred opened. Serums of purples and blues and violets and greens, and he produced a sickly-green tube and embedded the needle into the liquid promptly and then turned back to the cot on which Zatanna lay.

"How did it happen?" Alfred asked, worry evident in his voice, as he crossed the distance to the cot.

"We were searching for information about Scarecrow's whereabouts. Someone tipped us off—Dick, hold down her arm, Alfred, hold down her legs—and we went to go see if they were lying. But it was all a trap."

"Oh, I say" was all Alfred could mutter with shame written upon his face as he looked down at Zatanna's shapely legs and looked away as only a gentleman could as he held them down, trying to refocus his attention on Bruce. "Scarecrow ambushed you, then?"

"Yes. I had my mask on, and she protected herself with her magic. But then one of his thugs knocked off my mask, and she managed to protect me from the gas before it got to me, but someone distracted her before she was able to get up her protection again, and she succumbed to the gas."

Bruce's expression hardened at the memory, and he reached for Zatanna's arm, instructed them to hold her down once more, and then plunged the syringe.

The effect was almost instantaneous. Zatanna's eyes snapped open and a high-pitched, unearthly scream erupted from her lips and she began to writhe and twist; Alfred and Dick had to struggle to hold her down, while her eyes began to look around, stuck in a world that only she could comprehend.

"Zatanna," Bruce said, removing his mask so that she could see his face, as she began to cry in terror, still lost to her world, "it's okay. Listen to me. It's Bruce."

"Zee," he said, soothingly, so much more soothingly than either Dick or Alfred had heard him speak, "It's Bruce. You're all right. You're home."

"Br-Bruce?" Zatanna moaned out from her tears, and it was sickening to hear her voice, on the point of desperation and tears. "W-where are you?"

"I'm right here, Zee. I want you to breathe for me." He said, gently, yet authoritative. "You're okay. You're with me."

"G-God, Bruce—Bruce—I'm so sorry," she whimpered tears streaming down from those big brown eyes, and her writhing and kicking began to calm to slow, so that Alfred and Dick could relax their hold, rapt by how Bruce calmed her down, silent and observant.

"It's okay. It's okay," he repeated, and her breathing, at first erratic and heavy, chest heaving, began to calm, as she returned to the world of sanity. "I'm—I'm sorry."

"It's all right," he soothed, and then leaned down to whisper something in her ear that made her limbs, at once tense upon Alfred and Dick's palms relax, and then she sighed in relief. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." He said, and then to the immense surprise of those observing, kissed her flush on the lips and then pulled away, staring down at her form as the second effect of the serum drifted her away to the realm of sleep.

"I took the liberty of adding in a sedative for that batch. Make sure she's taken care of." Bruce commanded as he stepped out from the hemisphere of light and donned his cowl once more.

"But Master Bruce," Alfred said as he relinquished his hold on Zatanna, "Where on Earth are you going?"

"After Scarecrow. This ends tonight." Bruce said, and there could be no denying the truth or the cold fury in his statement as he quickly returned to the sleek black car of power and then veered out of the gates to the outside world.

"Why'd he go?" Dick asked, looking away from the path the car had left in back to Zatanna, who still managed to be pretty, though the cuts on her face greatly marred it. "Doesn't he have to take care of Zatanna?"

"He will when he comes back." Alfred said, and then returned to the tray of tea he had to go reheat it; Zatanna would be in great need of it when she awoke. "Come with me back upstairs."

"Okay," Dick said as he followed after, "But why shouldn't he take care of her now?"

"Because they are things a man does. He feels the need to go regain both of their honors." He explained, voice echoing as he returned up the long, winding staircase.

"Oh." Dick said, not even trying to sound like he understood the intricacies of adulthood at all, and Alfred sighed and smiled a little for the tender mercies of life.

"You'll understand when you're older, Master Dick."

**The Present**

"Good Heavens, what happened?" Alfred asked, a little more keen on his feet and more alert to situations than he had been before, and quickly went around the car to help Zatanna limp out of the car with Bruce on her shoulder, blood streaming from his stomach, too much to discern exactly where he had been shot.

"It was Riddler, of all people," she grunted and shooed him off to go get a cot to lie him down on as Alfred fought the uncomfortable sense of déjà vu, and she groaned under the weight placed once more on her shoulder but ambled over to the cot he began to wheel out to her. "We were sneaking into their warehouse, but someone must have tipped them off about us going there. He shoved me out of the way before I could get hurt, so I just had to hurry and get him in the car before he suffered anymore damage. He's been in and out of consciousness ever since."

Her voice was surprisingly calm and steady, as Alfred listened to her explanation and helped her get him onto the cot. "I was too scared to use my magic to heal him that I thought it would be best to take him back to you. I think—" at this moment she grunted as she exerted her force to help Alfred push him over to Alfred's operating tools that were always ready for any emergency, and then began again, "—I think I can remove the bullet, but you'll have to stitch him up again."

"Of course I will, Miss Zatanna. Wheel him over there, if you please." Alfred politely instructed her, and she did as she was told as he set up his instruments and donned his surgical gloves and mask.

"If you would be so kind as to strap him down; he may hit you if we don't get him down." He quickly said, and she obliged, running the straps over his wrists and legs and tying them taut.

"If you could, roll up his shirt, quickly as you can, and then see what you can do about removing the bullet."Alfred continued, setting the necessary instruments down with a jingle and clink similar to wind chimes.

Silently, Zatanna knelt down over Bruce as he muttered in his state of unconsciousness, and quietly whispered, "Bruce, if you can hear me, I'm sorry for this. But it's going to be better, I promise."

Without another word to reassure him, she stood over him and placed a hand with the utmost gentility and said in a rather composed manner, _"Evomer eht tellub." _

There was a low cry of pain that passed from Bruce's lips, and he began to shift and groan in barely suppressed anguish, causing the cot to rattle and shake as he moved, and then his low cry grew to a yell of agony as she watched the muscles under his ribs twitch and shudder as the tip of the shell of the bullet sprouted from the hole it had created, and she winced in disgust and surprise but waited until it had ascended upwards and outwards entirely before she took it and discarded it to the tray by Alfred's instruments.

Quietly, Zatanna looked to Bruce once more, and saw to her surprise that his eyes were open, those bright blue eyes that regarded her with unexpected kindness and appreciation.

"Thanks for getting that out, Zee," he groaned in muted pain as Alfred set to work, reclaiming his needle and thread and set to work on patching up the rest.

"No problem. I'm just returning the favor from last time." She smiled sweetly down at him, and he winced as he replied.

"Thank you, I think." He twitched at the touch of the needle, and Zatanna laughed, and then leaned down to his ear, her breath tickling ever-so-slightly.

"After all, I needed a way to say _'I love you too,'_ don't I?" he could hear the smile in her voice, and couldn't help but arch an eyebrow as she stood up and observed him with a wary gaze, crossing her arms.

"I didn't think you remembered that." He admitted softly, but cringed at the pull of the thread against his flesh.

"Trust me, women never forget." She shook her head, the smile returning to her face once more.

"I'll keep that in mind," he said as the two of them waited for Alfred to finish his stitching, somewhat content in the most unexpected of situations in the hemisphere of light, the two of them impatient to return to the outside world and finish business.

* * *

**Sorry if the writing's shaky, I haven't written a chapter for these guys in ages! But we'll just get around to the rest of the story later. For now, let's just 'ooh' and 'ahh' now that their emotions and confessions are out on the plate.**

**And yes, Alfred Pennyworth is a fully qualified surgeon. Just ask the comics.  
**


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